


my name at the top of your list

by alsoalsowik



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of Bedsharing, Pre-Comeback, The Smallest Amount of Angst, post-Sochi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16183064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsoalsowik/pseuds/alsoalsowik
Summary: Not fifteen minutes after her head hits the pillow, Tessa shoots up. There’s a furious knocking at the front door and it’s—she looks at her phone in a panic—three in the morning. Abandoning her robe for the heaviest book on her nightstand (which just happens to be a copy of Jane Austen’s collected works), she steels herself and makes her way down the stairs, flipping on every light switch she passes. The knocking hasn’t stopped, but now there’s shouting.“Tess-a! Tessa, open up!”or, Scott shows up at her door in the rain.





	my name at the top of your list

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anneweaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneweaver/gifts).



> this is decidedly not the wip i've been working on the longest, but when taylor swift's "the last time" speaks to you, what are you supposed to do? ignore it? dedicated to nat, because she's always there to bounce ideas off of (and let's face it—this was half her idea in the first place). enjoy!

Late night storms have been keeping Tessa awake for the past two or three hours. Rain pelted sideways against her windows normally soothes her into a deep sleep, but the howling wind is too much. For not the first time, her beautiful, perfect, pristine house feels too big and empty. It doesn’t particularly help that she and Scott have been toying around with the idea of returning to competition. They haven’t made a decision one way or the other, but Tessa knows what she wants. What she _needs._

 

So there’s a lot on her mind.

 

As the rain takes the slightest turn towards hail, Tessa sits up angrily. She closes her eyes, breathes forcefully, and then sighs. Standing, she reaches for the robe pooled on the ground beside her bed. Normally, she’d be meticulous, hanging it back in the bathroom before bed, but there’s been too much on the line for anal cleanliness. The white fluff envelops her but it isn’t quite enough. She shakes her head and pads in the direction of the stairs and, ultimately, the kitchen.

 

While she certainly can’t cook, a nice pot of chamomile tea isn’t out of the realm of possibility. The rain continues while the water comes to a boil and the tea leaves steep. Tessa wants certainty and answers, but she knows that’s unrealistic because Scott has Kaitlyn and he can’t make decisions on the fly anymore. She thinks things between them are rocky—after all, she was _there_ in Scotland—but doesn’t know if Scott still wants to marry her. When he’d told her a few weeks before Gold Metal Plates, she’d smiled through her heart being ripped in half. Twenty minutes later, she’d texted Ryan and, God, was that a mistake. Ryan wasn’t ever the caring type, and the sex wasn’t even enough to tamp the feelings of dread and remorse expanding in her chest. Right now, she just wants to know where she stands.

 

The tea kettle whistles, cutting through the storm outside. Tessa pours a mug, perches herself on a rustically modern barstool, and wills her brain to shut up for a few hours. Once she’s made it through the liquid and can see the leaves stuck to the ceramic, she blinks. Her eyelids feel heavier than they did twenty minutes ago, so she takes it as a sign to trudge back upstairs and crawl into bed.

 

Outside, the rain keeps on.

 

Not fifteen minutes after her head hits the pillow, Tessa shoots up. There’s a furious knocking at the front door and it’s—she looks at her phone in a panic—three in the morning. Abandoning her robe for the heaviest book on her nightstand (which just happens to be a copy of Jane Austen’s collected works), she steels herself and makes her way down the stairs, flipping on every light switch she passes. The knocking hasn’t stopped, but now there’s shouting.

 

“Tess- _a!_ Tessa, open up!”

 

It almost sounds like…but he wouldn’t be here at this hour. Kaitlyn’s in town. Even so, when she unlocks the door and unfastens the deadbolt, it’s Scott on the other side. Soaking wet, smiling like a goddamned idiot.

 

“Took you long enough!” He shakes raindrops from his hair and looks at the book clutched against her chest. “Thought I’d want to brush up on my _Pride & Prejudice_, eh?”

 

“I—“ Tessa starts. She’s stunned into silence, then tries, “I thought you were an intruder!”

 

Scott laughs, which is just like him. Of course he’d think her impending murder funny. “Tess, intruders don’t _knock_.”

 

She doesn’t say anything, just stares and tries to convince herself to wake up from whatever tea-induced dream this must be.

 

“I know I shoulda called, but, uh, are you gonna let me in?” Scott finally asks, still half in the rain because she doesn’t have a real porch.

 

“Yes,” Tessa says on instinct. “Hold on.” She turns for the closet by the half bath under the staircase, letting the book fall with an unceremonious thud against the hardwood. When she turns back, Scott’s standing delicately on her doormat, toeing his sneakers off and setting them atop the shiny gold shoe rack by the door.

 

“May I?” he asks, reaching for the towel in her hand. It slips from her fingers into his, and Scott pats his face and hair dry. Then his hands go to the hem of his shirt and Tessa’s pretty sure she’s _had_ this dream before. The wet fabric sticks to his skin, but he peels it off before looking around sheepishly and dropping it on the mat beside him.

 

“Scott,” Tessa says, the workings of an actual question finally making it to her mouth.

 

“Sorry,” he starts, I just didn’t want to drip—“

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“—all over your floors.” He cocks his head. “What? Oh! Right.”

 

Tessa takes a breath, preparing for…she’s not sure, but she’s got the worst in her mind. _I asked Kaitlyn to marry me. We’re moving to Winnipeg. Kaitlyn’s pregnant._

 

“Tessa, I’m in.”

 

On autopilot, she starts with, “I’m so happy for the two of—wait, what?”

 

“The comeback! Skating with you competitively, I mean. I realized I’ve missed it so fucking much, kiddo.”

 

Her mouth falls open. “But what about Kaitlyn?”

 

Scott presses his mouth together and shoots a furtive glance at the floor. “We broke up. Yesterday.”

 

“Oh my god, and you didn’t tell me? Are you—?”

 

“Tess!” he interrupts. “ Breathe, kiddo.”

 

She does, takes a deep inhale and tries to quiet the heartbeat thundering in her wrists. “Do you want some tea?” she asks flatly.

 

Scott nods and follows her, shirtless, into the kitchen. The kettle’s still on the stove, so Tessa goes to work boiling more water. They exist in a comfortable silence, like the times they were too tired to talk during all of those drives from Ilderton to Kitchener-Waterloo for early morning practices. She never feels awkward around Scott, not even now—pushing down thoughts and feelings while she reaches for another chamomile teabag out of her cupboard. When the kettle whistles, barely audible over the wind, she hands him a mug without ceremony or words.

 

He takes a sip and winces. Never could wait, that boy. Scott works his tongue between his lips and Tessa has to avert her eyes to the artful flower arrangement on the island beside him. Sunflowers, to brighten up the fog she’s been in lately.

 

“You seem tired,” Scott starts after another, more productive sip. “And before you get offended, I just mean you look like you haven’t slept well in a few days.”

 

“I’ve had a lot to think about.”

 

He nods. “Me too.”

 

Tessa swallows a yawn and leans against her granite countertops. “How did Kaitlyn take the breakup?”

 

Another, longer, sip. Scott sets the mug down gently and avoids eye contact. “I think we both saw it coming, since Scotland, at least.”

 

Fucking Scotland. When they sat across from each other in a tiny pub in the middle of a downpour and heard a horrifically well-timed cover of “What’s Love Got To Do With It.” When they made eye contact even though Kaitlyn was right there and something changed. For Tessa, at least.

 

“And you?”

 

“I’m in,” Scott says. “I’m all in, Tess.” And then he’s running his tongue across his bottom lip and he’s still sitting _shirtless_ in her kitchen and saying _all in_ sounded an awful lot like something more and maybe it’s the sleep deprivation or the storm, but Tessa can’t keep it in anymore. She walks around the counter, places one palm flat on his shoulder, and leans in.

 

For one blissful moment, Tessa forgets the circumstances and where they are, because she’s kissing Scott Moir and he’s kissing her back. One hand sits low on her hip while the other starts to tangle in her hair— _oh_ , how she’s missed this. But then, just as he pulls her closer, she jerks back.

 

Before Scott can get the, “What’s wrong?” she knows is coming out, Tessa blurts, “I think I may have misunderstood.” Shesmooths her camisole back where it’d started to ride up and attempts a smile.

 

“How?” is all Scott asks, rubbing at his mouth absentmindedly. “I think we were definitely just on the same page.”

 

“Look,” Tessa starts, beginning to pace, “I’ve been thinking about us and the comeback a lot lately. Why I can’t sleep most nights.” She frowns. “And then you show up on my doorstep in the rain and say you’re committed to skating again and I just projected what I—“ Oh god, she’s really about to say it, “—wanted from our relationship onto that affirmation.”

 

Scott opens his mouth to interject but she holds up a hand. “And I can’t be a rebound, Scott.”

 

“Tess,” Scott says after staring at her for a solid thirty seconds, eyes wide. “Baby, is that what you think I want you for?” He _knows_ what that particular term of endearment does to her, knows how it sets her stomach on fire and brings her back to their younger, more reckless years of fucking around between—and sometimes in the middle of—other relationships. He hasn’t called her baby since right before Sochi.

 

“Isn’t it?” Tessa asks, because there’s no way this is actually happening. It’s simply impossible that Scott is here because he wants their career _and_ her. It’s always been either/or when it came down to it. Except…she knows about the conversation with Mike Babcock. What if?

 

Scott stands and takes a step closer to her. His hazel eyes are so dark they border on brown, full to the brim with emotion. “When I said I’m all in, I meant it. Completely.” He moves forward again and grabs for her hand. She lets him take it, pressing her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from interrupting. “If we’re gonna do this, I want everything. _You._ We can’t keep dancing around this, eh?”

 

She looks at their joined hands and watches Scott run his thumb against hers like he’s done for years to calm her nerves. “But when you talked about the breakup…you seemed sad. Or mad. And I don’t want to rush into something that you’re not ready for.” Tessa’s always done this—there’s a reason she’s known as the head in their partnership.

 

“I’m mad at myself for letting it go on so long,” he says plainly. “Kaitlyn deserved better, and it’s going to take me a little while to get over what a jerk I was.” He squeezes her hand. “That’s how I know I really want us. It’s been on my mind for a long time, kiddo.”

 

“Really?” Tessa breathes. She suddenly feels too vulnerable; they’ve never been great about talking through their feelings, and for the vast majority of their relationship, Tessa’s solidly believed herself to be more in love—or in love at all—with Scott. Maybe she got it wrong. Maybe those Tessa lookalikes from before Sochi meant something other than _okay, he has some kind of type._ Maybe he’s been in as deep as she’s been.

 

He just nods, brows knitted in something between sadness and complete earnestness.

 

“Come here,” she says, tugging him gently into her arms. She doesn’t kiss him, just wraps her arms around his shoulders and lets him rest his head in the crook of her neck. Where it’s always belonged, on some level. They breathe slowly and deeply until Tessa feels their pulses synch. Like clockwork. Scott presses one open mouthed kiss to her collarbone, then pulls away just slightly.

 

“Pretty glad you didn’t beat me to death with Jane Austen, eh?”

 

Tessa laughs because somehow she still finds him hilarious. “Come to bed with me,” she says after the giggles subside. “ _Not_ like that,” she clarifies when his eyes go wide. “Just to sleep.” They still have so much to talk about, but now, knowing he wants her like she’s always wanted him, Tessa can’t imagine not falling asleep in his arms.

 

“Anything for you, baby.”

 

Scott follows her up the stairs, leaving their mugs unwashed in the sink. Cleaning can wait. She turns down the duvet, slips her shorts off, and scoots to one side of the bed. He follows suit, resting his head against her fancy down pillows. Tessa feels his arm slip across her waist, his palm flat against her belly. Outside, the rain finally lets up.

 

And she sleeps soundly for the first time in weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love! come yell at and/or with me on twitter (@moirorless)! thanks for reading <3


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